


The Bath

by technoelfie



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-26
Updated: 2016-02-26
Packaged: 2018-05-23 06:07:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,103
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6107473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/technoelfie/pseuds/technoelfie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When you are sent to summon Thorin to dinner during your stay in Rivendell, you stumble upon a sight you are ill-equipped to deal with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Bath

 

**Setting:** Rivendell, during the quest.

**Warnings:** Nudity and innuendo.

* * *

 

"Y/N, be a dear and tell Thorin dinner will be ready soon, will you? Lord Elrond likes his guests to be punctual at the dinner table," said Gandalf.

You jumped, startled out of some rather unpleasant thoughts and stared blearily at the wizard.

"You look glum, my dear. Is something the matter?"

You pondered what to say and came up blank. "I'm trying to get used to nearly dying because it's bound to happen a lot in the future," seemed a little too flip, and also untrue. It was not the nearly dying that was the problem, it was the thought that quite soon, you would skip the nearly part.

Just yesterday, you had escaped death by warg only because Thorin had very quick reflexes and also apparently eyes at the back of his head. It had made you realize that dying was a very real possibility. Now, a day later, you were no longer riding the adrenaline rush, but you were still in the grip of an odd restlessness, as if waiting for the other shoe to fall.

What other shoe, you weren't quite sure. You had been a bookish child who had seamlessly transformed into a bookish adult. You had never been all that interested in real life, not when there were so many amazing adventures between the pages of books, just waiting to be experienced. And then you had found yourself in Middle Earth, where you had awakened to real life with a vengeance.

It was an uncomfortable process. You were perpetually on pins and needles, like a limb that had fallen asleep and was now being forced back to uncomfortable life by the influx of fresh blood. Being with the company had been fun at first, despite Thorin's perpetual sneer and the derision he liked to direct your way. The others had soon accepted you into their odd family, treating you like a little sister. But then came the trolls, and the orcs, and the hard, punishing kiss Thorin had treated you to once you tumbled into a hidden cave and he saw for himself that you weren't wounded.

It had been hard to think of anything else, after that.

Your feelings were constantly jumbled, your inner movie reel seesawing between the warg's paws on your shoulders and the heat of that wild kiss, the one everybody had pretended not to see. Even now, safe in the beautiful valley of Rivendell, your mind insistedon replaying those two moments. Kisses and imminent death, repeated in an endless loop, with Thorin straight at the center of that ball of conflicted messiness.

You were jerked out of your thoughts again by the scritch-scratch of Gandalf cleaning his pipe, and the smell of Old Toby.

"Well," the wizard said, clearly done with waiting for an answer that wasn't coming, "I can see your mind is on other things. Why don't you hurry along and fetch Thorin? A walk might do you good."

You nodded and left with alacrity, thankful he hadn't pressed you further.

 

* * *

 

The chambers Thorin had been assigned in Rivendell were larger than for the rest of you combined. Apparently, even in Rivendell differences in status were important. Thorin as a king rated a different treatment than the rabble, you thought unkindly, unable to suppress a pang of envy as you walked up to the richly carved doors. Since your road trip with the dwarves had successfully destroyed any notions of privacy, you only gave a perfunctory knock before you entered.

"Dinner'll be ready soon!" you sang. "Gandalf said—" You broke off on a croak.

Because Thorin was naked.

The glum thoughts that had weighed you down just moments before floated away like ashes in the wake of a forest fire. A flame of sheer, covetous _want_ ignited low in your belly.

Nudity you might have been able to deal with. Probably. You'd seen a lot of it lately, the company utterly lacking any taboos in that area. But Thorin wasn't just naked. He was naked and _wet_ from the bath he'd obviously just finished.

Time slowed as you stood there, gaping shamelessly at the scene before you.

There was the tub, an ornate wooden monstrosity in the middle of the room, still filled with soapy water. And there was Thorin, in the process of climbing out of said tub. He had turned to look at you over his shoulder as you entered and water streamed down his back at the motion, sluicing over round, firm buttocks before it dripped to the floor.

Those buttocks flexed gloriously as he lifted his other foot out of the water and straightened. He gave you a perfunctory nod in greeting. "Y/N."

You couldn't react for the life of you. Your mouth was dry, your stomach tumbling in free fall as he moved around the tub with powerful ease to pick up a towel.

Still naked.

Still wet.

Stray drops of water ran down his face and throat. They traveled in glistening rivulets down his ridged abdomen and left long, silvery trails along the taut, defined muscles of his thighs. More water had condensed to pearly droplets on his shoulders and chest, sparkling like diamonds in the late afternoon sunlight.

Oblivious to your inner turmoil, Thorin bent down and used the towel to wipe away the small puddles that had formed around the tub. You nearly moaned as the muscles in his calves and thighs coiled with his motions.

As if through a fog, it occurred to you that you were still staring — with your mouth open no less — and you really ought to stop before he noticed.

It was rude, for one. Thorin was not a sex object. He was a man — well, dwarf— and a king to boot, and he had _not_ given you leave to ogle him. In no language of the world did one short, angry kiss translate to "ravish me with your eyes at the earliest opportunity". In Thorin's inner world of perpetual vexation, it probably meant simply "learn to handle a sword, you stupid bint".

Handle a sword. Huh. You'd like to handle his—

No. There be dragons.

Not going there, not going there…

Having apparently finished drying the floor to his satisfaction while you were daydreaming, Thorin straightened and lay the sodden towel over the side of the tub.

"Is something wrong?" he asked you.

You shook your head mutely. Despite the light breeze blowing through the open window he was still wet in so many — muscled, lickable — places. Maybe you should offer to dry him off properly.

With your tongue.

No! That was a bad, _bad_ thought.

But he didn't make any move to cover himself, and you could see that he was in possession of some truly _royal_ jewels, as beautifully formed as the rest of him. That right there was a superior draw of the genetic lottery if you'd ever seen one. How were you supposed to think of anything but tongues in these circumstances? Tongues and hands and—

_No._

To add insult to injury, his torso was the most glorious you had ever seen on someone who wasn't a Greek statue. As you weren't made of stone, bad thoughts were the only kinds of thoughts available to you at the moment, and they were getting progressively worse with each passing second.

You wished he'd never cover up again. If he went everywhere naked, maybe you'd have a chance to get used to it after a month or so.

"Are you well? You look flushed."

"Hmm?" you hummed.

At least if Gandalf asked why you'd been late, you could convincingly say you had gotten lost. Lost in Thorin. That should be a valid excuse anywhere.

_Mmm, that sounded positively naughty._

"Flushed," Thorin repeated. "You look flushed."

You blinked. Of course you looked flushed. It took all you had not to paw at him like a demented cat. Really, he should be appreciating your restraint instead of expecting you to act like a fully functional human being. The nerve!

"Y/N?" Thorin prompted again, looking concerned.

And now he'd gone and said your name, all gravelly and deep, and of course it sounded like an invitation. Everything did, in that voice. Nobody should speak in a voice like that while wet. Clearly he must understand the effect he was having on you!

But no — he picked up another towel and began to dry himself off while he waited for an answer. He started with his armpits, which were ridiculously attractive and oh, the way muscles bunched and shifted in his arms!

"While you make for a fetching statue," Thorin said, rubbing vigorously, "I would appreciate it if you would speak to me."

He wanted you to speak, did he? Well then. You searched your mind desperately for something to say and there it was, a fully formed sentence: "Y-you had another bath!"

If it sounded like an accusation that's because it was.

He blinked. "I enjoy being clean."

"You had a bath just yesterday," you mumbled.

"Yes, and I shall have a bath every day as long as we stay here." He stepped closer to peer into your face. You held your breath as he fingered a lock of your hair, still damp from your own bath. Moisture glinted on the bulging curve of his biceps and you pictured licking it off.

"If I am not mistaken, you bathed recently," he pointed out.

"I like baths."

"Am I not allowed to like them as well?"

You squirmed under his regard. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Oh? What did you mean?"

God, that _voice_. It didn't even matter what he was saying, it was enough that he was speaking for you alone, in that low, intimate tone suited to such close quarters.

A fresh surge of sheer, desperate arousal washed even more color into your cheeks and spread down your neck.

"That you— I mean, this… And you—"

He frowned and stepped closer.

_No! Don't come any closer! Oh please, do come closer..._

"Whatever is the matter with you? I have never seen you like this. Are you feverish? You are very red…"

He placed a hand on your forehead. You tried to squirm away and he caught your arm.

"Be still!" he ordered.

You subsided, achingly aware of the broad, damp chest mere inches from your lips. Your fingers tingled with the need to touch. Your _lips_ tingled.

Meanwhile, Thorin pressed cool fingers to your cheek, then your neck. "You are burning up," he said repressively. "Were you wounded after all? Even scratches can become infected."

You tried again to shake him off, to no avail.

"Stop. Squirming," he bit out, already searching your bodice for the laces of your dress. "I must look—"

"No!"

He took hold of your jaw, none too gently, and forced you to meet his gaze. "I told you, small wounds are dangerous. Stop being a child and let me look!"

"No!" you cried, smacking his chest for emphasis. "You're naked!"

"Yes!" he barked, exasperated. "We have already established that I had a bath, for Mahal's sake!"

" _Naked!_ " you repeated, looking up accusingly.

"Are you delirious?"

"There's no wound! I'mblushingbecauseyou'renaked!"

"You are not making any sense."

"I'm feeling hot," you said more slowly, sure you were going to self-combust any minute now, "because you're naked."

Thorin's eyes widened as exasperation gave way to incredulity. "Surely not."

You nodded.

"But… _why_?"

Well, that was a stupid question if you'd ever heard one. You shrugged.

Sighing, Thorin reached down to knot the damp towel around his hips. Then he lifted your chin with a gentle finger. "I do not understand. Just this morning at the fountain, Fili's pump handle was flopping about a mere breath away from your face. You laughed and pinched him."

You winced as you recalled the morning's adventures. The dwarves had been frolicking naked in the ornamental fountain, complete with back-breaking acrobatics. Happy for any distraction from your tortured thoughts, you'd giggled at them from the sidelines, throwing in the odd insult about their form and awarding points whenever appropriate. You were happy to see them enjoying themselves so, even though you knew the elves would hardly approve. Then somehow Fili and Kili had gotten it into their heads that you were looking entirely too dry, so Fili threw you over his shoulder — the wrong way around. You had pinched his hip in retaliation. He'd yelped and dropped you into the water.

"You did not seem to mind Fili's nakedness," Thorin prompted gently. 

Yes, because Fili was still a boy in some ways, and even if he hadn't been, he wasn't Thorin.

"Fili's not you," you muttered by way of explanation, then immediately wished you could take it back.

Thorin's expression shifted again. Intrigue, amusement and fascination flickered over his features in quick succession, eventually settling into a darkly calculating look. "I see," he murmured.

"Yeah. Sorry."

"Please, do not apologize. I quite enjoyed being leered at." He brushed a finger over your cheek and lightly tapped your lips. "It was a novel experience."

_Deflect! Deflect!_

"I wasn't leering!" you lied, and immediately compounded that lie by staring at his mouth.

The eyebrow rose again. "No?"

"I was, uh, merely appreciating a masterpiece of nature."

"Do you always blush so when confronted with such… masterpieces?"

"I was overheated, that's all."

A touch of mischief washed over his face. "I see. A masterpiece, you say? Then allow me to return the favor."

He took a few steps back. Pointedly, he let his gaze wander over you in a very slow, very thorough once over. You were suddenly very aware that your rose-colored dress was a bit tight around the bustline, making your breasts look like they hovered perpetually on the edge of escape. To Thorin's credit, it was your face where he lingered the longest, though your cleavage did rate a slight delay as well, as did the curve of your hip.

_Not fair._ He caught your gaze, making sure you knew he had seen your reaction and enjoyed it, and then he did it again. Your whole body turned towards him, softening, opening like a sunflower.

"A masterpiece indeed," he said huskily.

You had to swallow back the need to jump him and kiss him silly. "I'm sorry if I have you at a disadvantage," you said haughtily instead, because there was only so much provocation you could take before you burst.

Thorin, damn him, only smirked. "Not at all. I am in possession of a good imagination."

Then he turned away, tossing the towel over his shoulder and presenting you again with the sight of the most glorious buttocks in existence. Quite on purpose, this time. You caught the towel clumsily and pressed it to your chest.

"I believe you meant to summon me to dinner," he said over his shoulder as he dressed with ruthless efficiency.

_Dinner? What dinner?_ you thought, and then memory came rushing back.

"Oh, we're going to be so late," you moaned.

"Not all that late, I'll wager," Thorin said calmly. "I believe Gandalf sent you?"

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Gandalf always leaves plenty of time." It seemed to you like he'd meant to say something else, but that thought fled as quickly as it had come, displaced by the sight of Thorin, starkly handsome in his royal finery.

While the clothes transformed him from pagan god back into the stern king, there was still a glimmer of moisture at his throat. Somehow it was even more attractive now that he was dressed so forbiddingly. You found yourself wanting to nibble at that spot, see if his flesh felt as taut and firm as it looked.

Thorin looked down at you knowingly. Then, with great deliberation, he rubbed his thumb over the wet patch that so transfixed you, watching with satisfaction as your lips parted and your eyes darkened.

Gently, he dislodged the wet towel from your grasp and tossed it away; it landed with unerring aim across the side of the tub. You looked down to see that it had left a large damp patch on the front of your dress.

Thorin smirked. "That will dry in no time," he said innocently. "Shall we?"

You lifted your chin. "Lead on."

He placed a hand at your waist as he ushered you out.

The late afternoon cast the surrounding gardens in a honeyed light and you stopped for a second to take in the stunning sight. You inhaled the scent of the flowering trees, listened to the meandering brooks gurgling merrily between carefully tended flowerbeds. A faint breeze stirred your hair and sent a few strands fluttering across Thorin's chest.

"It's so beautiful."

Thorin's thumb caressed the curve of your hip. "It is." You waited for him to say something denigrating about Elven landscape architecture, but he was watching your face with an oddly intent expression and did not comment further.

Impulsively, you leaned your head against his shoulder. It seemed the right thing to do, odd as it was, and he didn't seem to mind. His arm circled your waist tightly as he brought you closer.

For one suspended moment you were the only two people in the world; the future stretched before you golden and lazy and slow like molasses, teasing you with bright promise.

Thorin tore you out of your reverie as he bent down to whisper in your ear. "One of your plaits is crooked. If you wish, I can rebraid it later."

You nuzzled closer into his side. "Just the one?"

"If anything should befall the rest of your hairdo between now and then, I will of course offer my assistance in repairing it." His lips curved against your temple. "As often as becomes necessary."

"Oh my. I foresee many tragic accidents befalling my hair in the near future. Especially since I'll sit at the same table as Bofur," you said, recalling how food had a tendency to grow wings around your friends.

"In the unlikely case that my companions prove unequal to the task, I may be able to assist you with that as well."

You pictured Thorin's hands in your hair, mussing it beyond repair, and smiled dreamily. "I'll be happy about any assistance you care to give."

"It is decided, then. After dinner?"

You nodded, wondering how you were going to make it through dinner without dying of anticipation.

"After dinner," you affirmed. It was a promise.

You walked together towards the setting sun wearing identical secret smiles.

 

 


End file.
